


A Thing of Beauty is a Joy For Ever

by Sresla



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 11:16:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17980283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sresla/pseuds/Sresla
Summary: Deidara is intent on creating a work of art even his partner and fellow Akatsuki member will admire.





	A Thing of Beauty is a Joy For Ever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kantayra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/gifts).



“Sasori, my man,” Deidara said, “this is taking forever.”

Predictably, his partner didn’t respond, although Deidara knew he likely chafed equally at the delay. Given Sasori’s taciturn nature, a one-sided conversation at this juncture was nothing more than he expected.

One of Deidara’s mouths disgorged a piece of readied clay and he rolled it out between his fingers before pressing it into place. With the pad of his thumb, he molded and shaped it, seamlessly blending it into the whole.

Not like an unfinished work of art, though, the silence was a space begging to be filled. If he’d had a ryō for the dozens of times a day Sasori told him to be quiet, he could have left their organization a rich man and retired somewhere beyond its reach. Or, his fellow shinobi could just kill him to shut him up. Since he hadn’t – hadn’t even tried despite vowing to do just that on multiple occasions – Deidara continued his running dialogue while he worked his clay with his hands. He took the lack of follow-through on the death threats as the other man’s acceptance of their partnership and recognition they were kindred spirits. Soulmates even, yeah? It was why they were here now, together, after all.

Finally, he asked, “When are we meeting your Sound village spy?” His eyes flickered down to meet Sasori’s briefly but Deidara still received no reaction and he looked away.

So, he already knew Deidara was aware of his mole within Orochimaru’s ranks. The information had taken some ferreting and it was almost disappointing that even the sly mention of it wasn’t enough to goad a reply.

While he acknowledged his partner’s machinations took precedence, his rambling thoughts brought Deidara back to his own personal vendetta and he spat the name out like a curse. “Itachi!” His jaw clenched and his teeth ground together just picturing that black-haired asshole. However, given his only goal was to stuff a piece of clay into Itachi’s mouth before detonating it – enjoying the decorative spray of blood and bone as those precious eyes of his pulped outward in the explosion – Deidara could be patient enough to see Master Sasori’s plan come to fruition first, once they were back on their way.

“Tch,” he exclaimed, as he realized his vindictiveness bled out through his fingertips and he had pressed their imprints into the sculpture. “Don’t worry, I’ll fix it,” he muttered.

He used more clay to help smooth out his mistake, but the purist in him kept him at work for several more hours before he forced himself to step back. Then he sat, cross-legged, slowed his breathing and concentrated before beginning his hand seals. After a few minutes, he could feel sweat trickling down from his scalp, past his ears and onto his neck as he focused his chakra, further imbuing the clay. The effort it required to halt his _kekkei genkai_ , preventing his earth and lightning natures from intertwining, took immense concentration and he was glad now of their solitude as the technique left him far too vulnerable.

His chant became a quiet mantra, “ _Tora hitsuji, tora hitsuji,_ ” until the words blurred unintelligibly together, executing the seals through muscle memory alone.

Pushed to his limit, then past it, he finally signed the technique’s release. “I think I might need a nap,” Deidara murmured before he collapsed backwards in a faint.

When he awoke, he experienced a moment of disorientation before he realized his obscured vision was due to his scope. His mouth tasted like the tongues extruding from his hands had been licking the floor of the hut. Deidara set up, flicked his hair back from his face and rolled his shoulders to work out the kinks from sleeping on the hard ground. “We’re good now, yeah, Sasori my man?” he asked, looking up.

But they weren’t good. The statue of his partner stood in front of him, inanimate and unresponsive. “No. No, no, no!” he shrieked. He could feel the stiches in his chest strain against the sealed mouth there, as it fought to echo his anguished screams.

It took him months to sculpt this, his greatest masterpiece, a vessel of eternal beauty his fellow shinobi could inhabit until he rebuilt himself. That the Akatsuki thought Sasori was dead, as did the leaders of Konohagakure and Sunagakure, just meant they were all fools, idiots who couldn’t ever appreciate or understand true craftsmanship. That they didn’t know him at all – not like Deidara did.

He let them think what they wanted. Deidara committed to memory the scattered wooden pieces they left behind, taking only the _namami no kaku_ – the core of living flesh – with him. Their ninjutsu were similar enough, even though his and Master Sasori’s ideologies differed drastically on the subject of art, that breathing life into another creation – given the proper tools – should have worked.

He edged forward on his knees, searching Sasori’s body and face for any signs of imperfection and saw none. The simulacrum was exacting in every detail and, if not for the paleness of the clay, might have been mistaken for the puppet master’s true form. Not shattered like he last saw it on the cave floor. Not broken and discarded like a child’s outgrown toy.

Deidara felt the power rising in him and fell forward on his hands, panting heavily, trying to contain the urge to unleash the energy on his creation in one glorious explosion. Head bowed, his fingers dug into the dirt, its taste like graveyard dust, as the mouths in his hands openly salivated in anticipation. “I won’t… not… not to you. Please…” he gasped.

He looked back up, seeking a flicker of recognition in the sculpture’s pupilless eyes, a subtle rise and fall in its chest, the twitch of a muscle; any signal his effort was not in vain. He inched forward, clutching first at the doppelgänger’s feet, then legs as he pulled himself back upright. Gingerly, he reached up, guiding Sasori’s hand. Deidara felt the malleable clay warm up against his skin as it cupped his cheek and jaw.

He leaned into it, shutting his eyes. “I need…” he whispered. Unbidden, the mouths in his hands opened and their tongues snaked out, one twining around the statue’s wrist, the other against its fingers, tightening the gentle embrace.

Deidara’s eyes flew open as the change in pressure on his face registered and he scrambled back in surprise. When they touched, he had posed his creation deliberately. Now, though, he saw the minuscule change; its fingers curled the tiniest amount, different from his original design. He _hadn’t_ imagined it. He crouched, balanced on the balls of his feet, legs clutched to his chest and stared until the hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Yeah, I know. Stupid of me to forget.” He stood and checked his pouches; he’d need more clay. “Just promise me whoever you take after I remake Hiruko will be better looking. For someone without emotions, he sure made you seem like a sourpuss. I’d say I’d let you use Itachi, but,” Deidara’s hands came together with a loud clap then flew apart, “there won’t be much left. Plus, I might have to kill you if I had to look at him every day. Although it could be worth it… I can imagine a small part of him, still alive, feeling every tug and pull on his strings… how you’d make him _dance_ …”

He snickered. “Might be alright at that, hm? We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Wait here for me, yeah?”

Deidara took the dead stare as agreement. It was good to have his partner back.

**Author's Note:**

> While internally I tend to cringe and worry when I post something, I rarely outright apologize for it, but for this story I feel an "I'm sorry" might be necessary. I have always felt Deidara connected very deeply with Sasori, despite the other not feeling the same way, and that Sasori's death would impact him more than was ever conveyed on paper/in the anime. Given Deidara's manic tendencies, I could picture him becoming obsessed with bringing him back, despite his own views on art and its transitory nature. That Sasori believed it - that art endures - would be enough to drive him to a level of fixation/insanity about it. This means he might come across as somewhat out-of-character and for Deidara fans (I count myself among them), I apologize if this is perceived to be the case. Having just started re-watching Naruto Shippuden, I finally wrote this little ficlet to satisfy my own craving for the pairing. Somewhere, lurking in the very back of my mind is a follow-up where Deidara tries to contact Kabuto for help once he realizes that restoring Hiruko or providing some sort of carapace/shell won't be enough but I have other brands in the fire so it will have to wait a while.
> 
> I have long adored Kantayra's "Flesh and Blood" story because the depiction of Sasori and Deidara's relationship is about as perfect a thing as I could imagine. Kantayra, if you ever meander through and happen to read this, even if you hate it, please know that your writing is very inspiring with how good it is and motivates me to try to be better. Also, apologies to fans of John Keats for shamelessly utilizing the first line of "Endymion" as my story's title.
> 
> Deidara, Sasori and the associated settings, as well as other characters alluded to here belong to Masashi Kishimoto. The characterization is more from the Viz Media productions (hence the "yeah" and "my man" instead of "un") than the manga.
> 
> Thank you for reading. A critique is just as valued as praise.


End file.
